Page 110 of Angelic Vengeance

“I get to keep that tat on?” I yelled mockingly from upstairs.

“Zachary!”

I slammed the bathroom door shut behind me.

I jumped out of the doorless Jeep, heading inside the warehouse to take a final look at the product. Thousands of bricks of cocaine, all sat stacked on top of each other. Several men were moving them into different sets of boxes for transportation, which was happening in less than an hour.

The Cartel had been working for some time with a group of dirty feds, whose job was to safely escort the narcotics across the border – for a nice little share of the rewards, of course.

I stepped back outside and leaned against the warehouse wall to look at the stars. The jungle surroundingwas pitch black; only the sounds of the waves, swings of palm trees, and crickets identifiable in the darkness.

I stared at the starlit sky. Back in New York, my basketball team had a new captain leading them in tonight’s game.It should’ve been me.But Matteo made it clear it wasn’t an option anymore. My place was with the Family; in the Cartel.

The silence got too much. I waited for a noise – anything. The sound of boxes moving, the rumble of a car engine, struggled breathing from the soldiers working inside…Nothing.

A sick feeling coiled in my stomach, and I wasted no time taking out my Glock. As I was about to turn the corner, one of the workers stepped outside, and I quickly stashed away the gun.Jesus.This business was turning me paranoid.

“They’re here, Boss.”

I nodded, and he followed me back inside the warehouse. Some men were still finishing up the boxes, though a lot less than before. I forced myself to ignore it and deal with the business meeting first, before lecturing my own team.

I focused on the group of dirty feds – fucking rats – we’d done business with a hundred times before. The one thing I hated more than the police, were dirty cops – bothersome flies; weak and disgusting. But regardless of my aversion, they were useful momentarily. Once they no longer served a purpose, the Cartel would get rid of them.

“Young Di’Ablo…” Ruiz, the leader, stepped forward. She was the only one not wearing a balaclava to cover her face. “Good to see you again.”

I hid my hate for the nickname. “Should we get started?”

“About that… I wanted to talk numbers.”

I nodded even though I knew exactly what she was going to suggest, and how I would decline.

“Our payout isn’t making sense in regards to the whole operation.” She waited for me to say something; I didn’t. “We want a bigger share.”

“No.”

The Cartel’s soldiers which had been finishing up with the boxes, stopped what they were doing and stepped behind me to back me up as an intimidating force.

Ruiz chuckled. “I knew you’d say that. But you see, for every hundred million you and the Cartel make, my team makes one million. Divided between ten of us… You can understand how that just simply is underpaying for what we do for you.” When I didn’t respond, she continued. “We want ten million.”

“Find another Cartel.”

“Careful, Zachary. You’re talking to a federal agent after all. I’d hate for the U.S. government to find all of your stash houses.”

Thiscucarachaknew a couple secrets out of the millions the Cartel kept, and thought she could blackmail me. She could tell the U.S. government everything she knew about theDi’Ablocrime organization and it wouldn’t even make a dent in our business.

“Adirtyfed thatslavesfor me,” I corrected, gritting my teeth. “I’d hate to send your decapitated body back to D.C. in a box. Take the mil and get the fuck out of my face.”

She nodded. “Shame. I hoped it wouldn’t have to get this far. Boys?”

An arm wrapped around my neck, pulling me back, while someone else grabbed my hands and pulled me to theground. Five men pushed my face into the cement ground, holding me down and tying my hands behind my back.

My own soldiers had turned against me.

A black bag was wrapped around my head. Pain shot through my ribs and back as they began kicking me to force me to stay down. I bit down on my back teeth, refusing to let out any sound of hurt or struggle. I pulled at my hands, but instead harsh rope cut into my wrists.

The material of the bag was slightly transparent, allowing me to see through the black fabric.

One man pulled me back up so another one could hit me freely. Instead, I headbutted him and knocked him out cold. Someone jumped on my back, attempting to throw me on the ground; with my hands tied behind my back, I walked back into a wall, slamming the man between the cement and my body.

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